


Two Middle Aged (Presenting) Hobbyists Just Trying to Get Along

by bisasterdi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale likes a good challenge, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley likes being a creator, Fluff, Happy Conversations, Hobbies, M/M, Male Pronouns and Effort for Aziraphale, Male Pronouns and Effort for Crowley, Mild Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Other, Post-Apocalypse, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), recently established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21981928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisasterdi/pseuds/bisasterdi
Summary: So you've averted the apocalypse and survived attempts by Heaven and Hell to put you both to death--what can one angel and one demon on the outs with their respective sides get up to after their world-saving is done?Answer: Earth has lots of creative outlets to offer, as well as a slew of fascinating new hobbies. And while those are great, perhaps what's even better is sharing your new pastimes with your favorite ethereal/occult being, especially if you're ridiculously in love with each other and want nothing more than to make each other absurdly happy.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 234
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Two Middle Aged (Presenting) Hobbyists Just Trying to Get Along

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mintly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintly/gifts).



> This is a pinch hit gift for Mintly, for the Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019. More notes specific to the prompts being fulfilled can be found at the end of the work.
> 
> Thanks for the brainstorming help go to Soap! Thank you, you're the best.

Crowley set his new prize down at the center of Aziraphale's writing desk, moving aside one pile of books to make room, and stretched out his weary back. He'd been concentrating so hard on his work at the studio that he'd had no attention left to master his human corporation and it had gotten sore and sweaty as he'd worked. He'd snap it all away in a moment, just as soon as he figured out where Aziraphale was.

"Aziraphale!" he called, tilting his head upward, toward the mini-flat they'd miracled into place over the bookshop after the averted apocalypse. There was no answer, and the shop had been closed and locked up, but neither of those things meant there was no one else there.

Crowley tromped up the stairs, trying to make a little more noise than usual (Aziraphale had recently asked Crowley to stop 'sneaking up on him' while he was distracted with a book or a fascinating blend of tea.) He wasn't shocked when he found his angel leaned back in an overstuffed chair, ridiculous reading glasses perched forward on his nose, with three books open, two of them precariously balanced on his lap.

They were all but forgotten, however, as soon as Aziraphale became aware of Crowley's return.

"My dear! You're back so soon, how lovely." Aziraphale blinked owlishly up at him, closing the book in his hands with a careful  _ thump _ , his smile appropriately ethereal.

Crowley chuckled.

"Been gone hours. You just don't notice the time passing when you get caught up in..." Crowley paused, squinting past his sunglasses to pick out the title on the spine of the nearest book, and then he took them off, recalling that it had been months since he'd needed his glasses to hide behind in Aziraphale's presence. "...Chaucer?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said, his eyes lighting up. "I have an odd theory about the Canterbury Tales and...well, perhaps it's better if I keep it to myself until I have more evidence."

"Didn't you know Chau—"

"I did," Aziraphale said, interrupting. "And I should probably know whether my suspicions are true, but that time period is rather hazy for me. Geoffrey did insist on sharing quite a lot of his wine."

"Ugh." Crowley pulled a face. "That swill tasted like donkey's bollocks back then."

"It got the job done, however." Aziraphale laughed as he set all three books off to the side and got to his feet, moving to give Crowley a welcome home embrace. Crowley put his hands up to stop him, leading to the most wounded-looking kicked puppy expression he'd ever seen.

"You wouldn't thank me for letting you come any closer," Crowley warned. "I've been uptown at the glassblowing studio and I was working too hard to be able to keep myself pristine." He gestured at his wayward hair and disheveled clothes. "I'm just thinking of you, angel."

"Did you bring home anything new?"

Crowley made a little flourish with his left hand and the new vase suddenly decided it would like to be upstairs rather than on the downstairs writing desk. The sight of it made Aziraphale gasp and he came closer, tilting his head from side to side to take it in from different angles.

"Look how wonderfully it catches the light! You couldn't have used off-the-rack color rods for this." Aziraphale beamed at him, his face 'catching the light' so much more beautifully than anything Crowley could ever hope to make.

"Added the minerals for the colors myself," Crowley admitted, his heart beating faster as the blinding light of Aziraphale's praise sank in. "That's what took so long. Could have just used the premade stuff, or..." He mimed snapping his fingers, then shrugged. "I like it better this way."

"As well you should. These little treasures you're creating are miracles in and of themselves. You don't seem to require anything other than to labor with your own brilliance to excel at this."

The air caught in Crowley's throat as he stilled, blinking dumbly back at Aziraphale as his cheeks flamed. Hell, it couldn't just be his cheeks at this point. As overheated as he felt, the flush must be well down his neck by now.

"So," he choked out, between breaths. When had he started panting? "Gonna...shower."

"What a marvelous idea! I haven't indulged in that particular pleasure for much too long. I'll come with you."

Crowley's tongue began trying to reverse its way down his throat, apparently attempting to discorporate him to save him from the embarrassment of admitting exactly how overwhelmed he was by all this praise and attention.

"Unless, of course, you'd rather have your privacy?"

Aziraphale, when Crowley made himself make eye contact, was clearly trying to look unaffected at possibly being rebuffed, but there were shadows of the kicked puppy expression there that he couldn't quite hide.

"No." Crowley shook his head, just to reinforce the point. It had taken them so long to earn this closeness with each other, and he wasn't going to risk a misunderstanding over something like this. "I just...the things you're saying...they're..." He struggled, not really knowing how to get the idea across.

"Oh, my. I didn't think. Does it bother you?"

"No!" Crowley said, too loud, unable to control himself, his whole body feeling twitchy and oversensitive. "Angel, I—"

"Do the compliments..." Aziraphale paused, raising his eyebrows suggestively, " _ interest  _ you?"

Crowley fought to master himself, squaring his shoulders the best he could.

"Maybe."

"As it happens, hearing you talk about your work... _ interests  _ me, as well."

There was a moment that passed between the two of them, anticipation so acute it was nearly tangible, before Aziraphale broke the silence.

"Well then, my dear, let's take a nice, refreshing shower, and you can tell me all about the creation of this marvelous work of art." Aziraphale's eyes danced with merriment, but with something more primal behind it. The look sent a shiver down Crowley's serpentine spine.

* * *

Crowley miracled their clothes away the moment Aziraphale reached into the shower to switch on the water and he leered at the twin dimples on the angel's backside. Every instinct was telling him to step forward and take two handfuls of that delightful flesh to gorge himself on, but he held back. Aziraphale clearly had  _ Plans, _ and if Crowley knew anything, he knew those tended to lead to pleasure so intense that he had trouble remembering his own name.

Steam billowed from behind the curtain, and once Aziraphale seemed to deem the temperature acceptable, they got in. Aziraphale turned them so the spray was pounding into Crowley's back and shoulders, and Crowley purred as the heat began to work out the strain deep within the muscle.

"What was the most difficult part of your project, dear?" Aziraphale prompted, and Crowley leaned his head back into the water, thinking about his answer.

"The swirls of black, I think. Difficult to get a true black when you're creating the colors on your own, without using the color rods. Had to use a lot of chromium," he said, his voice breaking a little when Aziraphale ran his hands down Crowley's chest.

"Go ahead, dear." Aziraphale's voice was light. "Just soaping you up."

Crowley had to hold back a yelp when Aziraphale's fingers spread over his pectorals, both thumbs circling rather forcefully over his nipples in a gesture that wasn't strictly necessary for the proper restoration of good hygiene.

"If you don't mix in enough of the chromium," he continued, hoping the breathiness wasn't too obvious, "it comes out with a green cast."

"Oh no," Aziraphale said, dragging his hands down to Crowley's twitching abdomen, then continuing on to spread the lather onto both hips. "I can see you were recreating something in the heavens, perhaps a lovely nebula you once had a hand in designing. Green would never do, not for that."

"You have to be careful, though, and tease the glass through the process of taking on the mineral. Especially when you want something deep and rich."

"Very important to tease," Aziraphale agreed, and he let his hands wander backward to knead Crowley's arse, then moved to let one finger trace a circle around Crowley's entrance.

Crowley moaned, pushing back harder onto Aziraphale's hand, but the pressure was pulled away.

"My love, you must still be so sore if the ache is causing you to cry out. You've worked so hard to bring such a beautiful work of art home for us to enjoy. Allow me to help you feel better."

Aziraphale shuffled past to get behind him, and while Crowley was disappointed to have Aziraphale's hands move back to more innocent territory, he couldn't deny how good the deep tissue massage felt on his shoulders and back.

Then he got a wicked idea (he was a demon, after all) and made sure to move slowly, lowering his arm as though he simply was reacting to the massage so he could get his hand closer to his aching, rock-solid cock. Just a bit more to the left and he could brush his fingers along its straining length, relieve some of the pressure that was building up.

"Could you take a step forward, please?" The casual nature of the question contrasted terribly with the insistence of Aziraphale's hands, the firm pressure on his waist giving Crowley no choice but to move. "Hands up on the wall, if you would? That angle will give me better access to these muscle groups in your hips and lower back."

If he wasn't so frustrated, he'd laugh at the paper-thin reasoning Aziraphale had offered to get Crowley into this position, left at the angel's mercy with no way to relieve any of the ache using his own hands.

"Tell me more about how you create those distinctive swirls of color, if you wouldn't mind? I know you've explained it before, but you're such a master of the art, and it's really so fascinating to hear about how you work."

Crowley bit his lip, concentrating hard on Aziraphale's question before he could clear his mind of the lust so he could answer.

"Frit," he said, proud of himself for restoring his ability to speak, but he knew a single word answer wouldn't satisfy Aziraphale. "That's what we call crushed up pieces of colored glass, and you roll your work into them to form the swirls. I made them with extra glass leftover from my last projects. Been planning this piece for weeks, gathering up all the colors of frit I'd need."

"My clever, clever demon...and so patient, too. Preparing yourself for weeks," Aziraphale said, and his finger finally found its way back to Crowley's entrance, circling the rim and then dipping inside, pulling a muffled moan from Crowley's throat. "Such restraint, not to just rush in, but to spend the proper time to create what you needed."

"Sometimes you do have to rush, though, when you're working with glass," Crowley panted, feeling desperate to speed Aziraphale along, or they'd be under the water for hours while he teased and held Crowley at the edge without offering any relief. "Once you've heated things up, it's important to move quickly."

"Ah," Aziraphale said, slipping a second finger inside Crowley and crooking them just  _ so, _ making Crowley see some of the stars he'd tried to reproduce in his latest vase. "That's when one moves in to use their hands and mouth, shaping their work with expertise and loving care."

There was a terrible joke begging to be made about glass  _ blowing, _ but as maddening as this teasing was, his entire body was singing with pleasure as he played along with the conversation Aziraphale seemed determined for the two of them to have. Aziraphale would be cross with him if he marred this moment with a crass joke. 

"I can only imagine how satisfying it must be to watch it taking shape, to feel it coming to life and know you're the one responsible for its creation."

"There's a mark on every hand-made piece," Crowley said, babbling now. "I look at them sometimes, just to remember how I felt when I was making it."

"Fascinating," Aziraphale said, stepping closer to allow his free hand to curl around Crowley's body to finally... _ finally _ ...close in a firm grip around Crowley's cock. The strokes were firm and slow, with his thumb swirling over the head in some sort of pattern that Crowley couldn't quite make out, making him twitch uncontrollably whenever that extra burst of pleasure washed over him.

"Once it's shaped, you transfer to the punty rod, so you can do your heat polishing and finishing work. That connection to the punty is what leaves the mark that proves it was hand-made." (Crowley had no idea what he was talking about at this point, and may have switched languages without noticing.)

Aziraphale hummed, then closed his mouth around the meat of Crowley's shoulder, his teeth sinking into the skin as he sucked a bruise to the surface. He took his time before pulling away, making Crowley's head go all cotton-stuffed with whiteout bliss when he also felt a third finger breaching him, the stretch stinging and delicious.

"I can certainly understand the impulse to enjoy making a mark on one's work," Aziraphale whispered, his hand on Crowley's cock slowing down to pull him back from the edge once again. "Do you move to another area of the studio when the forging work is complete?"

Crowley was trying to answer, he truly was. Aziraphale was there, patient, waiting, as Crowley choked down a breath and forced himself to speak again.

"Yeah. If you want what you're shaping to solidify properly, it's best to."

Crowley heard the water being turned off, and felt himself being gathered up in Aziraphale's arms and carried into the adjoining bedroom. He sometimes forgot how strong the angel was, but never failed to enjoy the occasions when he was reminded of it.

"So brilliant and talented," Aziraphale whispered in his ear, and he must have performed a miracle to dry them both off somewhere along the way, because Crowley's skin slipped decadently against Aziraphale's fine cotton sheets as the angel arranged him on the bed. "And how diligently you work to bring such beauty into our lives."

There was the rustling of a drawer before Aziraphale's fingers, now slick, returned to Crowley's entrance.

"Aziraphale, please," Crowley begged, knowing he'd never  _ been  _ more ready than he was right then, and he just needed to feel Aziraphale moving inside him.

Aziraphale must have agreed, because the fingers pulled away and were quickly replaced with the slow slide of the angel's cock filling him with a deliberate twist of his hips as they came together.

Crowley knew it would help if he wrapped his legs around Aziraphale's waist, but he was already too blissed out to get his muscles to cooperate. All he could do was lie there at Aziraphale's mercy, and he hummed appreciatively as one of his uncooperative legs was hooked over Aziraphale's shoulder.

"You've done quite enough for one day," Aziraphale said, as though he was reading Crowley's mind. "Allow me to take care of you and reward you for such lovely work."

The measured pace of Aziraphale's thrusts continued long enough to drive Crowley to the edge of sanity, and Aziraphale's mouth seemed to be everywhere at once. Their kisses were deep and filthy, tongues playing against each other, but there were also licks and bites at his nipples, and more teeth marks and bruises along his clavicle to accompany the first that Aziraphale had given him in the shower. Crowley had no sense of how much time was passing, but it was entirely possible that the light coming through the window had changed significantly from when they'd first come to bed.

Crowley writhed against the sheets, getting handfuls of his angel's flesh whenever he could in a vain attempt to ground himself. He wished he could do more than just lie here and accept what he was being given, but he worried less once he realized he could feel the telltale, out-of-control pounding of Aziraphale's heart where their chests were pressed together. Aziraphale loved doing this, caring for him and taking charge. When that led to pleasure this intense, turning it down was unthinkable.

"You can only draw your final sculpting out so long, angel," Crowley said, not really knowing where he'd found the presence of mind to speak. "If you try to work things too long, the piece gets brittle, and it'll break."

"Oh, my dear," Aziraphale said, and Crowley was finally able to open his eyes and see the depths of love and care in Aziraphale's. "I would never allow that to happen to you."

And Aziraphale's pace  _ finally  _ picked up, his thrusts getting stronger and firmer. His shoulder pushed up more forcefully on the underside of Crowley's knee, changing the angle between them, and Crowley cried out as the bolts of pleasure ripping through him got even more intense.

"Touch yourself, love," Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley groaned as he took himself in hand. His whole body burned with a pleasure that felt so good it had to be forbidden, turning to stronger shocks of bliss once he saw that Aziraphale was watching him, his dark eyes taking in every movement of Crowley's fingers.

He drew it out as long as he could, enjoying the naked need written all over Aziraphale's face, but his climax was eventually wrung from him by the sharp, commanding movements of Aziraphale's hips. It felt as though he'd be suspended there forever, his body contracting around Aziraphale's, when the angel finally let go as well.

* * *

Once their breathing had begun to return to normal and they'd flopped on their sides, Crowley in front of Aziraphale with his back to the angel's front, his thoughts began to wander.

"I think you should find a hobby too," he said, lacing his fingers through Aziraphale's and holding them to his heart. "A new one, nothing to do with books. Something to pour yourself into and get you out there, with the humans."

"I've already done that." Aziraphale sounded surprised.

"Not your extracurricular distribution of blessings," he clarified. "You've always done those."

"That isn't what I'm referring to. You know what I've been doing—those escape rooms! I just did one last weekend." He sounded a little hurt, actually, and Crowley wondered why he hadn't considered that enough of a hobby to keep him from bringing up this whole subject. Probably because he tended to zone out whenever Aziraphale went into detail about the puzzles in the rooms, focusing more on how delighted they made him, how his cheeks always seemed to still be flushed with enjoyment whenever he got back from one.

Those conversations tended to end up, quite rapidly, with the two of them in the same location and similar configurations to what they were in right then, come to think of it.

"Didn't know you were so serious about them," Crowley said, shrugging. "Didn't you say something about the puzzles usually being quite easy for you?"

"I'm not sure I'd put it that way." Aziraphale wiggled around a little behind him, sounding troubled. "Rather more pompous a description than I'd like. It's true that some of them draw on older riddles or parlour games most of the humans nowadays aren't familiar with, so those are old hat for me, of course. And being familiar with so much of human culture and history helps quite a lot."

"So yeah, as I said—they're easy for you." Crowley grinned a little, knowing this would push Aziraphale into some minor exasperation, drawing delightful little sighs and frowns out of the angel. He wanted to twist around in Aziraphale's arms and watch, but that would probably make it too obvious that he was enjoying the idea of getting a little rise out of him.

"If you must know, I try not to solve too many of the puzzles. I'm always there as a single party, added to other groups, and I don't want to intrude too much on their shared experience."

"Wait," Crowley said, and now he  _ did  _ twist around so they were face-to-face. "You've been going out to these things and just...what, watching the humans struggle with everything?" He waited a moment, as though he was thinking that over. "Perhaps I'd enjoy them too, if that's your angle."

"That is absolutely  _ not  _ 'my angle'." Aziraphale looked adorably put out, but not too severely. He knew how to tell by now when Crowley was needling him, and was merely acting out his half of their well-practiced interaction. "If you must know, I enjoy the people-watching aspect of it, but to watch them succeed, not to enjoy their struggling."

"Please tell me you don't just sit in a corner with your chin in your hands, staring at these poor sods. Though, I can't imagine you believably pretending you don't have any better ideas than what they've got."

Aziraphale was truly affronted now.

"I'm not a bad actor. I ran lines with Burbage a few times to help him out, I'll thank you to recall."

Crowley bit his tongue, somehow knowing it would be better not to opine that it was possible Burbage had merely been trying to get into Aziraphale's fine satin breeches, and nodded.

"So you pretend you're trying to figure out the clues, but stall until the humans work it out?" Crowley pulled a face. "And you don't find that tedious?"

"I find it  _ fascinating, _ " Aziraphale whispered, with the air of delivering a confession. "Every person approaches things differently. Groups have such delightfully novel dynamics. Even the rows are interesting to witness."

"And you don't...?" Crowley trailed off, miming the distinctive 'plucking energy from Heaven' gesture of Aziraphale's miracles.

Ah. At this, Aziraphale looked guilty.

"Only when they're truly stuck! Or if their arguments are becoming too mean-spirited."

Crowley gave Aziraphale a long, appraising look.

"You go in there, watch for the quietest, mousiest member of the group, or the one having the most trouble understanding...and then you give them 'divine inspiration', don't you?"

"Sometimes," Aziraphale allowed, and Crowley chuckled, leaning forward to kiss his soft-hearted angel.

"How many people have walked out with newfound confidence in themselves, provided by you?"

"Not simply provided by me," Aziraphale protested. "I never  _ give  _ them the answers, I merely clear their mind and allow their ideas to come forward." He huffed. "And I don't keep count. That would only serve my pride, and it would hardly be angelic of me to do so."

"Maybe I'll come with you sometime," Crowley said, snuggling his head into the hollow under Aziraphale's chin. "You've come to the studio to watch me working with the glass. Seems only fair."

They were quiet for awhile, long enough that Crowley had felt the drowsy pull of sleep pulling him under, but a few whispered words from Aziraphale were enough to lure him back.

"If I try not to solve the puzzles, though, and I'm mostly performing miracles to help my teammates, it isn't really a  _ new  _ hobby, is it?"

"It is if it feels new to you, angel. Don't take what I said too seriously. I was still half brainless from you fu—"

"Yes, I see," Aziraphale interrupted hastily, the flush coloring most of his face utterly delightful.

* * *

_ A few months later _

"Would you write me a second sign for the door of the bookshop?"

Crowley looked up from where he was sprawled on Aziraphale's sofa, only to see Aziraphale holding a sheet of paper and his old-fashioned fountain pen (which only seemed to run out of ink if its wielder thought it would be fun to dip it in the inkwell.)

"Restricting your hours even more?"

"Well, yes. And while you were so helpful in composing the circuitous language for my current sign, my dear, I do need to keep this one more straightforward."

Once Aziraphale had explained what he wanted and Crowley finished the sign, he fixed a raised-eyebrow look at the angel.

"Permanently closed on Saturdays, hmm? This have anything to do with all those mysterious hours you've been away recently, working on your 'project'?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said, his eyes widened with excitement and his smile was broad and blinding. "I'd love to show you the fruits of that labor, if you're amenable?"

"Sure, whenever you li—" Crowley stopped himself, as Aziraphale had a hand held out, as though he'd like to lead him away. "Oh, you mean now?"

Aziraphale's grin fell, and no, Crowley couldn't have that.

"That sounds good, actually. l've been on your sofa all afternoon, and we could probably both do with a trip out," Crowley amended, slinking off the sofa to take Aziraphale's hand. "Can't wait to see it."

* * *

As it happened, they didn't have to go far. After Aziraphale locked up the bookshop, he led them a few blocks away, still in the heart of Soho, to an unmarked storefront. Aziraphale let them in through the intricately carved wooden door and they were in a small waiting area, housing several groupings of mismatched, comfortable-looking chairs and sofas arranged around coffee tables.

Crowley forcibly restrained himself from making any guesses. It was obvious that Aziraphale was quite excited to explain it all, so he settled into a nearby armchair and took in his surroundings, content to wait until the angel was ready.

"There are four rooms beyond this, plus a small office," Aziraphale began, pointing toward a doorway that was covered by a red velvet curtain. "It's taken weeks to find all the things on my lists, and longer than that still to finish crafting the false documents and other props. I wish I could express to you how truly onerous it's been to source accurate materials."

Crowley nodded, bursting with curiosity now, but still determined to allow Aziraphale to reveal the last of his secrets in his own time.

"Perhaps I could show you one of the rooms?"

Aziraphale led the way past the curtain (holding it aside for Crowley to follow) and they went inside the first of four doors lining both sides of the corridor. The room was dim even after the light inside was switched on, but it was still fairly easy to make out what the setting was supposed to be.

"This is...it's a Regency-era drawing room. Are those cornices authentic?" Crowley pointed upward at the bright white molding that ran around the tops of the walls, carved into a pattern Crowley was sure he'd seen in a few stately homes back in the day.

"Reproductions, I'm afraid. All of it is, as I'm hoping everything will get plenty of use and I'd hate to see antiques suffering that much wear and tear."

Crowley took a closer look, noting the wallpaper (was there something odd about the pattern?) and the locks on two of the drawers in the desk. When he turned around, he spied another padlock on a decorative box sitting on one of the side tables. It finally dawned on him what the purpose of the room was—of the whole place, really—and he wondered why it had taken him so long to figure it out.

"You made your own escape room!"

"Four of them, in fact. There's this one, whose theme you quite rightly placed in Regency-era England. The other three are based on 12th Dynasty Egypt, a murder mystery in a 19th century bookshop, and...well..." he trailed off, looking a bit embarrassed. "Escaping the Bastille during the French Revolution."

Crowley couldn't stop himself from laughing at that one, earning him a scowl from Aziraphale.

"What, pray tell, would  _ you  _ know about how to get out of the Bastille, other than 'wait for a demon to come rescue you so you don't have to fill out reams of paperwork to get back to Earth'?"

"It's perfectly permissible to take creative license for the settings, though the design for all the room elements are as historically accurate as possible—right down to the horridly uncomfortable stools in the Bastille cells."

"That sign you asked me to make for you...you're only closing the bookshop on Saturdays?"

"Oh, I don't think I'd like to give up the bookshop. I could, however, see myself here one day a week, ushering groups through the four experiences I've crafted as the gamemaster. I'll monitor them via camera and give them clues if they ask for them."

"You set up cameras?" Crowley looked up, and when he squinted, there was indeed a camera blended into the items decorating one of the walls, fairly high up.

"Well, I didn't do the installation myself, of course. I've no idea how they work, but I did contract a lovely gentleman to complete the work for me and show me how to interact with them."

"I expect you'll also be watching to see if anyone needs a little angelic nudge," Crowley said, giving a knowing wink.

"Yes, I shall." Aziraphale paused, and Crowley noticed his body language had changed, become more closed off and protective. "Do you think I'm being silly? This probably all seems quite boring to you, doesn't it?"

"This is for  _ you,  _ angel, not for me. Doesn't really matter if I'd find it exciting. I know you, though, and I can't imagine anywhere else, other than the bookshop, where you'd be happier. At least for right now."

Aziraphale's pleased expression was exactly the kind of thing he used to think about, before averted-armageddon, before they became what they were now. It was how he'd picture Aziraphale in his mind's eye, when it had been too long (weeks, months, years, decades) since they'd seen each other. Instead of the sight of it sending a pang of longing through him, making him wish yet again (oh, the countless times) that things could be capital-D  _ Different  _ between them, Crowley realized he had more, right now, than he'd ever considered possible. More than he'd ever dared hope for, certainly.

"The proprietors of two other escape room establishments have been so generous and supportive, after I'd merely asked to speak with them to let them know I have no intention of trying to seriously compete with them. They have newsletters—electronic ones, you know—that reach their previous clientele, and it appears there is a sizable contingent of escape enthusiasts who have exhausted all other experiences in the city and are always asking for referrals to anything new. With their help, I've managed full bookings for my opening day, two weeks from now."

Aziraphale led him out of the Regency room and into the hallway, walking them toward another of the closed doors. Crowley took that time to read all the little signs that had been framed and placed on the walls. Many of them were classic riddles, written out in Aziraphale's steady calligraphy on time-darkened parchment paper. But there was one of greater interest, and Crowley pointed to it.

"Ah, yes! I'm quite excited about that!"

"'The proprietor would be delighted to offer your party a 10% discount if at least one member of the group arrives in a costume that is period-accurate to the theme of your chosen escape adventure,'" Crowley read, chuckling as he pictured humans tromping through here in togas and empire waist gowns.

"I can't wait to see if anyone rises to that challenge," Aziraphale said, excitedly. "Human beings can be ever so ingenious when they set their minds to something."

"And a good portion of them would be willing to sell their immortal souls to get a discount, so borrowing their granddad's trilby hat would be nothing."

"I'd love for you to see one of the rooms in action, my dear," Aziraphale said, as he opened another door, gesturing for Crowley to precede him through it.

"Sure," Crowley agreed, shrugging. "I'll come with you for the grand opening." He walked further into the room, gaping at how exactly this room echoed the dark little Bastille cell he'd rescued Aziraphale from, centuries before. He was looking upward, fascinated by the artificial light streaming down from one of the metal-barred, false windows, when he heard the door shut behind him.

This wouldn't have been a big deal, of course, except that he'd gotten the oddest sense that he was now on his own. He'd always kept track of Aziraphale when they were together, some part of his consciousness keeping watch, letting his demon's paranoia work overtime to keep his all-too-trusting angel safe. That sixth 'where's Aziraphale' sense was blaring now, and he whirled around to confirm that he was, indeed, alone.

"Aziraphale!" he called out, looking around to make sure the angel hadn't just ducked into a particularly dark corner, but Aziraphale's voice crackled through a speaker somewhere over his head a moment later.

"I was hoping you'd help me test out this particular room now, my dear?"

"Aziraphale," he groaned, slumping onto the nearby stool...and the angel had been right. They were, indeed, surpremely uncomfortable.

"You don't have to, of course. And the door I closed when I left is unlocked, as it's not safe to truly keep anyone locked in. You may leave whenever you wish, but if you'd be willing to help me, I'd be ever so grateful."

"I've already broken into and out of this room," he said, thinking back to Aziraphale in those expensive, showy clothes he'd worn when he'd been captured during the revolution. The angel had looked good enough to eat, and Crowley had done a few centuries' worth of fantasizing about just that.

"I remember it quite well," Aziraphale said over the speaker. "You were, as ever, my knight in shining armor."

"You saved my sorry arse a few times, if you'll remember."

"Well, perhaps when people tire of this Bastille experience, I'll design a room around another of the times we spent together."

See, when Aziraphale put things like that, Crowley was starting to see a more personal sort of interest for him in this escape room business. He was all for the two of them getting out a few old outfits and acting out scenes from their shared past, especially as they'd be allowed to end them differently now—the way Crowley had always wanted them to, and to his everlasting surprise, the way it seemed Aziraphale might have wanted them to, as well.

"What do I need to do?" he asked, and thinking more of what he'd be wanting to get up to when they were done, he added, "And what are the stakes? What do I get if I win?"

"Well, as this is the inaugural run of my new endeavor, I believe I can offer you a special, personalized experience. When a group of humans bests one of my rooms, I intend to award them each a hand-lettered certificate of completion." The speaker cut out and there was a long beat of silence, and Crowley could feel the pounding of his blood whooshing through his ears as he waited for Aziraphale to continue. "That seems so impersonal for the two of us, however, and hardly the sort of reward you'd be due for consenting to be my first guinea pig, as it were."

Crowley waited, keeping his body language casual, as he knew his bastardly angel was watching him over the closed-circuit cameras.

"I suppose I could be convinced to allow you to take whatever bounty you'd like from me, once you've freed yourself. Would that be acceptable?"

Memories of the guilty wanks he'd had when fantasizing about Aziraphale offering him the reward of his decadent lips wrapped around his cock after the rescue from the Bastille immediately came to mind, but he tried not to let any of those thoughts show on his face.

"Fine. It's a deal," he said, with a careless shrug. "How long have I got?"

"Oh," Aziraphale's voice came over the speaker again, sounding light and casual. "I started your hour-long timer when I closed the door behind you. Didn't I mention that?"

"Bollocks," Crowley protested. "Tell me you aren't going to be this unfair to the humans?"

"Of course not, my dear. But you're so clever, and you've had previous experience in this room. I'm sure you won't need the full hour."

"And I suppose I can't..." he mimed a snap, and the answer was returned immediately.

"I couldn't stop you from performing a miracle if I tried, but I must warn you...I'll be frightfully disappointed if you do."

"Ugh." He was a demon, for Satan's sake. How had he ended up in a tiny room in Soho, talking to an angel who was spying on him via a closed-circuit camera, and promising not to use any miracles when it would be so easy to skate through this whole thing while cheating his arse off?

Right. He was in love with the bastard.

* * *

Crowley was panting, holding a rusty ring of keys in one hand and a fiberglass brick in the other, when the keypad on the door turned green and he was allowed to open the door again. He heard some shuffling from down the hall, followed by Aziraphale and his giddy, lovely, grinning face.

"You were marvelous, my dear! Simply splendid."

"Did I get it? The time," he sputtered, still trying to catch his breath. That last puzzle had been a doozy, and had required him to re-use two items from earlier puzzles. He'd gone half-mad trying to find them after he'd thought they'd become irrelevant.

"Ah, the time." Aziraphale looked down at his pocket watch, then back at Crowley. "I did say you would need a time of an hour or less to truly beat the room, didn't I?"

"Yes," Crowley moaned, his brain still feeling a little scrambled. He'd rushed through things as quickly as he could, but some part of him felt like he'd been just a bit too slow.

"Fifty-nine minutes and seven seconds," Aziraphale said, laughing. "And with one of your clues left, as well. Quite good, especially when you consider that I robbed you of several precious minutes at the start."

"Yeah, about that," Crowley said, stalking forward with more swagger now that he knew he'd actually won their little wager. "You didn't exactly play fair."

"I'm an angel," Aziraphale said, taking a step forward of his own. "I always play fair. It's in my nature. Perhaps you've mistaken my adjustments of the difficulty level to provide you the proper challenge for—"

"—you deciding to cheat?"

"I was merely trying to customize the experience to provide you the proper level of motivation." Aziraphale drew closer, plucking the keys and brick from Crowley's hands. "The most delicious part of the escape room experience is the sense of urgency."

With a flip of Aziraphale's wrist, all the items Crowley had used inside the room decided that now would be a good time to reset themselves, including the two Aziraphale was holding.

"So," Crowley said, drawing one fingertip along Aziraphale's chin, continuing upward to that spot behind his ear that always made him keen. "It seems I've won."

"It would be my pleasure to present you with your reward, my dear."

"Oh, it will be," Crowley promised, and his stomach tightened with lust when he saw the delighted shiver that worked its way down Aziraphale's body. "I'm not sure I remember the cell I rescued you from in 1793 having a cot in it."

They both turned their heads toward it, Aziraphale finally beginning to blush.

"My cell was rather bare, if you recall. Difficult to populate a room with puzzles to solve if there are no actual items inside it."

"The bricks I had to shimmy out of the wall were an inspired choice, I thought. Took me too long to suss out that I was supposed to wedge that piece of paper behind the bars on the window, and the light coming through it would show me which bricks I needed to take out."

"Oh, really?" Aziraphale looked genuinely delighted. "You liked that one?"

"Once I figured it out, sure. Helps a lot that you have some red herring bricks that  _ can  _ come out, but shouldn't. The humans will try to cheat, you know, and cut corners. If they could just pull everything out of the wall that will come out and still solve the puzzle, they'd do it."

"You tried to do that, my dear," Aziraphale reminded him, and Crowley just shrugged.

"Yeah, well, I'm a demon, aren't I? But as it turns out, I didn't cheat—"

"—because it didn't work..."

"Like I said, I didn't cheat, so...?"

"If you'd be so kind to lie down for me, monsieur?"

"Are we switching to French to stay with the theme? Only, my Français is fairly rusty."

"Oh, no," Aziraphale said, shuddering. "I never really learnt it. Couldn't even communicate with my jailer until he admitted he could speak English."

Crowley shifted around once he laid himself down on the cot, shimmying his shoulders into the mattress and sighing happily as he realized that it was more comfortable than it should have been, given the woefully thin padding and the unforgiving metal springs underneath it.

"Minor miracle," Aziraphale admitted, as he balanced himself at the edge of the cot. "Couldn't have you uncomfortable for your prize." His fingers toyed with the button and the zip at Crowley's fly, and Crowley had to grind his teeth together to hold back the desperate whine that wanted to escape him.

"Haven't even told you what I want," Crowley said, trying to sound unaffected.

"Oh, what a shame." Aziraphale made as though to stand back up, but didn't actually move. "I had such lovely ideas, but I'm sure you—"

"Fine," Crowley said, forcing himself to sigh as though he was very put out, but willing to give in. "Whatever you think is appropriate."

"Marvelous." Aziraphale's smile was beatific, like a seraphim in a Renaissance painting (which was appropriate, as Aziraphale had posed for several artists in his time, a fact Crowley knew Aziraphale had tried to keep secret, but Crowley had discovered it anyway.)

Crowley nestled back into the pillow, closing his eyes and concentrating on the feel of it supporting the weight of his head. It was one of Aziraphale's miracles that made it feel that way, that held him there and surrounded him with comfort. The angelic magic seemed to tingle a little, and whether the sensation was real or imagined didn't matter much to Crowley. He was suspended in luxury with his angel nearby, doting on him and making him feel like he  _ mattered _ , and it was everything he'd ever wished for in his entire, infernal life.

"Just stay there, my dear. You're laid out for me in such a lovely way." Aziraphale's fingers worked nimbly at the fastenings of Crowley's trousers, and as much as Crowley wanted to sink his own fingers into Aziraphale's hair and hang on for his dear immortal life, just lying there at the angel's mercy felt too delicious to do anything else.

He had to do  _ something _ , though, especially when the first touch of Aziraphale's lips around his painfully hard cock forced a moan to bubble up from his throat.

"Your room was brilliant, angel," Crowley babbled, enjoying the little shiver of pleasure that went through Aziraphale at the praise. "The humans are going to love it, especially that code that was hidden in the Phrygian cap. Having that be the clue that led to the key for that locked closet in the corner...it was inspired."

The suction around his cock intensified, and then the deep vibration of Aziraphale humming seemed to tune itself to Crowley's body, playing him as surely as a bow being drawn confidently across the tightened strings of a violin. It made him restless, though he was determined to lie there, boneless, as he accepted Aziraphale's reward. The energy had to go somewhere, then, and it ended up manifesting as a monologue issuing forth from Crowley's lips. It was difficult to speak, the words coming in rushes on either side of the deep, indrawn gasps Aziraphale was pulling from him, but it felt like the only way Crowley could hold tight to his sanity.

"Oh," he moaned, thinking back on the puzzles he'd feverishly ripped through to beat the room within the one hour timeframe. "The cypher...the one I needed in order to decode the note inside the closet...that was brilliant too."

Aziraphale managed to put a questioning look on his face even though his mouth was stretched to the limit to accommodate Crowley's cock, and his eyes still fluttered shut every now and again, as though being filled this way was so overwhelming that he couldn't commit to keeping their gazes locked. As Crowley felt the angel's tongue massaging the underside of his cock and then swirling around the head the next time Aziraphale pulled back, he nearly forgot what he'd been trying to say.

"Hiding the key to the cypher inside the ruffles of the...what were those things called?" Crowley wondered, his mind blanking as Aziraphale took him so deep that he could swear that half of his cock was lodged in the angel's throat, "...those circular rosette things that all the revolutionaries were wearing?"

Aziraphale pulled completely off, running his tongue along the sensitive hollow just under the head on the underside of Crowley's cock, before he answered with a wicked raising of his eyebrows.

"Cockades, I believe, they were called."

There were kitten licks to the swollen, reddened head as Aziraphale giggled a little at he double-entendre, and just as Crowley was struggling not to actually vibrate his way off the cot and onto the floor where he would happily get on his knees and beg for release, Aziraphale closed his mouth around his entire length again.

"Oh, sweet—oh angel, you're brilliant," Crowley jabbered, going raving mad now but not regretting it for a moment.

When the suction kicked back in, Crowley knew he couldn't hold back much longer. He tried to choke out a warning, but all he got was an answering groan being pulled from deep within Aziraphale, rattling Crowley all the way down his demonic soul.

Crowley's back arched with a pleasure so intense that he couldn't hold himself in check, and he could distantly feel Aziraphale holding onto his hips to keep from being bucked off the cot entirely. He hadn't meant to do it, but he was helpless under Aziraphale's sure hands and mouth—though judging by the Aziraphale's appreciative and quite loud reaction, it seemed his angel might not have minded.

And there was that floating sensation again, more intense and luxurious than it had felt when he'd first been arranged on the cot and the pillow, as Aziraphale wrung every last aftershock of bliss from him. He distantly felt his clothing being set to rights, and the crackling energy of angelic miracles vanishing the more inconvenient side effects of their activities could be felt in the air again. Crowley was completely refreshed, his muscles relaxed and soft, and he had his angel curled into his side.

"But your turn, angel..." Crowley began, though he doubted anything but a nap could restore him enough to make good on what he was trying to offer.

"My dear, it's quite embarrassing, but I was...well... _ taken care of _ ...when I was treated to the sight of your climax. All you need do is rest. We'll go home when you feel ready."

"Love you, angel," Crowley said, burrowing his face into Aziraphale's shoulder, seeking out that warmth he'd been chasing for millennia.

"And I adore you, my wicked, delightful serpent."

Ah. When had he shifted into serpent form? Had he been so comfortable that he hadn't even noticed? Well, it hardly mattered. Aziraphale was cradling him, running his brilliant hands down Crowley's body as he coiled around the angel's midsection, and he was finally lulled to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Mintly: I loved your prompts! I especially loved prompts 2 and 3, and this fic is an attempt to work both of those in. Specifically, these:
> 
> 2\. Aziraphale and Crowley can both never seem to shut up, with Aziraphale being very enthusiastic and Crowley rambling or trying to remember what water rolls off of. How does this affect their bedroom life?  
> 3\. A little generic, but: now that they're retired from their jobs, what sort of human-adjacent, middle aged, domestic shenanigans do these guys get up to? What does the daily life of a retired demon and angel look like? How much of each other do they see, and do they instantly fall together, or are they still unsure? Were they together before, even, and now just get to enjoy married life for once, and how is that going?
> 
> I hope this story has provided some of that for you to enjoy! Happiest of holidays to you. :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the light will make it look brand new](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26328286) by [apocalypsenah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocalypsenah/pseuds/apocalypsenah)




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